


What is simple in the moonlight, never really is.

by judgementdays



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, a lil bit of friends to lovers, guitar player!harry, piano player!louis, u know how it isss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:34:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judgementdays/pseuds/judgementdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And then they're talking, like they always do on late nights. They talk about the future, about the cute girl who was checking Harry out at Tesco's, about the cute boy who asked for Louis' number the other day. They mostly end up talking about their auditions for the school of their dreams, though.</p><p>or</p><p>Louis plays piano and Harry plays guitar and they're both trying to get into Juilliard but feelings sort of happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What is simple in the moonlight, never really is.

**Author's Note:**

> ayyyyy!!! wow i just posted something what, 3 days ago? but i've been writing this for a few months wow and ya finished it yesterday, edited all today, and now here we are
> 
> sooooo i'd like to thank kiana for reading this over and such, and i'd like to dedicate this to not only her, but to marky and mary and the normal crew, and also amber bc we haven't talked i n a while girl 
> 
> so ya, enjoy!!! love u all<33333

It's three in the morning and Louis' fingers are finally starting to feel dead and numb.

They've been hovering over the piano keys for hours, since he's been forcing himself to memorize this piece before his recital tomorrow. He knows it well, sure, but to impress the head of Julliard who is attending his show, he needs to be better than just 'well', and if that means staying up all night then so be it.

He wipes his eyes with his arm and leans back against the bench, moving his fingers around to try and revive them, frowning when they stay that odd buzzing feeling, and Louis' not sure if it's even pleasurable or not.

He wants to reach forward and open up a window to get some cool air breezing through, but it seems like it's raining, and getting his sheet music wet isn't something he wants to do.

"You're still up?" A voice breaks the echoing silence that has been created in the music room, and Louis whips his head around to find Harry standing in the doorway. He's all sleep ridden, wild hair falling into his eyes, and despite Harry being five times taller than him, Louis sort of wants to cuddle him into his arms to protect him from the evils of this world.

"Yeah," he croaks, clearing his throat before starting again, "I need to memorize this last piece." Louis finishes quietly, voice practically a whisper, as if he's scared he'll wake someone up. He nudges his head over to the piece of music thats sprawled out over the piano and smiles tiredly at Harry, rubbing his eyes with his fists so he doesn't fall asleep right then and there.

Harry quirks an eyebrow, lazily taking a few steps forward. He's naked, save for his pants hanging loose on his hips, and honestly, Louis hates how his room mate thinks it's fair to walk around like this. "You were playing that the other night, yeah? Sure sounded like you had it memorized." Harry says with a small hum, now standing behind him to rest his hands on Louis' shoulders, squeezing gently.

It's comforting and all, but Louis' been trying really hard not to get a boner around his best friend, and this isn't really helping.

"I mean, I have it memorized," Louis rephrases, coughing in between words, "but, like. I want to have it like, so memorized I'll be able to play it in 50 years, and like I want it to come from my heart, not the keys." Louis' voice becomes quieter as he leans into Harry's touch, letting out a small hum of contentment when Harry presses a kiss to the top of his head.

"You're nervous because the head of Juilliard is coming." Harry tells him, and it's a little scary that Harry knows him like this, because yes, he is, he's bloody terrified and all he wants to do is crawl into a hole and cry, because he can't do this, he can't.

But instead of bawling, he just nods, taking a deep breath as he brings his legs up to rest on the bench with him, tucking his knees to his chest tightly.

"I'm going to blow it. If I mess up one key, one little note, he'll notice, and I'll never get it in, and I'll be stuck in stupid community college, and you'll get into Julliard, of course, and then you'll move to New York without me, and you'll forget about me and I'll be stuck here." Louis' out of breath by the time he's finished, and maybe, maybe, there are tears welling up in his eyes but he refuses to acknowledge them.

Harry's sliding down onto the bench with him in a second, tugging Louis into a hug. He tucks his face into Harry's neck and lets out a broken sob, ignoring how pathetic and utterly stupid he knows he looks.

"Hey, babe, hush up, you'll be fine, yeah? You're so amazing at what you do, there's no way they could ever possibly turn you down. We'll both get into Juilliard, we'll both live together in a dorm, and there's no way in hell I'm going to forget about you." Harry's whispering into his hair softly, comfortingly, and it's hard to think, and he has to remind himself every other second to _breathe._

"I love you," Louis mumbles into his skin as a response, and he can feel Harry's body vibrating with a small laugh, as he kisses Louis' hair and tells him he loves him, too.

"We're gonna be each others best mans, no matter what happens." Harry smiles, and it's so genuine and sincere Louis doesn't have anything left in him to cry anymore, so again, he nods and agrees, forcing his own smile on his lips.

And then they're talking, like they always do on late nights. They talk about the future, about the cute girl who was checking Harry out at Tesco's, about the cute boy who asked for Louis' number the other day. They mostly end up talking about their auditions for the school of their dreams, though.

Harry's not worried, has no reason to be, the head of the school already adores him, but Louis' still got this pit in his stomach, telling him he can't do it, though every time he mentions it to Harry, the other would just kiss him on the head and tell him not to worry.

Louis falls asleep with his head on Harry's chest, both still curled up on the small, cramped piano bench, and though his mind is wrecked, full of images of watching Harry walk down the aisle with someone who isn't him, his heart is happy, because it's beating in sync with Harry's.

-

When Louis awakes the next morning, he's alone and in the most uncomfortable position he could imagine. He squeezes his eyes shut tight before opening them, straining to see through the light shining in through the window. He's not sure how he managed to fit his whole body on the tiny piano bench, but his legs are cramped into different positions and he'll really need to stretch before tonight.

He pushes himself up to a sitting position and raises his arms up high before rubbing his eyes with his fists, much like he did last night when he could hardly keep his eyes open.

Last night. He remembers the closeness of Harry's body, the way their hands were laced throughout the night, the way Harry's breath was hot against Louis' neck. And the thing is, last night wasn't an abnormal occurrence.

Things like this happen all the time. More nights than not they're in the same bed when they fall asleep, save for the times Harry has a date with pretty models. They've been best friends for awhile, and to them, kissing each other on the nose or the forehead is just normal, despite what other pairs of friends would think.

When Louis glances over at his piano, there's no note with quick writing scrawled across it, like there normally is. Sometimes the note will say Harry's off at the store, or he's gone to study with Niall, but no note means he was in a hurry to get out of the house, which is slightly alarming.

He rolls off the bench and stands up, finally, yawning, before wandering out of the music room, and into the kitchen. Harry's not there, but he doesn't really expect him to be. He's probably still shopping for dinner.

He makes himself toast and eggs, even though his piano instructor insists to never eat eggs the morning of a performance. He eats them slowing, savoring the flavor, despite the fact they're burnt on the bottom.

It's noon by the time Louis finishes his breakfast and has cleaned the kitchen, yet Harry's not home. His stomach starts to twist, because what if Harry misses his show? They have this _thing_ , where whenever the other is performing, they lock eyes and give each other the thumbs up signal. It's superstitious, but Louis can't perform without knowing Harry will be there in the crowd watching him.

He shakes the bad feelings away, takes a deep breath and tells himself that Harry's just running late. The show doesn't start until seven, Harry has more than enough time to get home.

He takes his time throughout the day, changing into his performance suit and performance tie, showering, all at slow pace. He doesn't want to waste any energy he can use on stage tonight.

He texts Harry a few times, cheeky remarks about his burnt eggs and how sore his neck is, but he doesn't get a response. He quite literally tells himself not to worry, because Harry's fine, he just got held back in traffic, is all.

But by the time it's five and Louis' headed off to the college, his mind is bouncing all over the place. His hands are shaking, and he can't move, can't even breathe as he drives down the street. He sort of wants to cry, but he doesn't, because the head of goddamn Juilliard is watching him play tonight, he cannot have red blotchy eyes.

It's six, now, and Louis' been cooped up in the rehearsal room, going over the final piece over and over and over. His head hurts a little, because normally right now, he get's a text from Harry wishing him good luck with a lot of little kisses at the end, but his phone is empty, save for the texts from his mum.

Lou, the hair and makeup artist peeks her head in and smiles at him, waving hello just briefly.

"Where's your boy? Didn't see him in the audience tonight." Lou knows Harry's name , and knows they aren't dating, but has great fun calling them the "lovebirds" and, of course, they never really mind much. Her eyebrow is raised, and he keeps his head down as he shrugs to her.

"Not sure. Haven't seen him since last night," Louis says carefully, voice slightly rough as he spins around on the piano bench to face her. "I think he's with another one of our friends, Niall. They sometimes plans to study in the afternoon."

Lou frowns, doesn't seem all convinced, but shuffles in and kisses him on the cheek, wishing him the best of luck with a wink, anyway.

"I'm sure he'll show, love." Lou promises one last time before she leaves to finish the makeup for everyone else, and he can only pray that she's correct.

-

When it's finally time for Louis to get on stage and actually play, he feels like he's going to puke. It feels like someone is kicking him in the gut, over and over, because when he walks onto the stage, posture his very best, he spots Harry in the crowd of a hundred.

And he's not alone.

His arm is around a pretty brunette, with crazy eyebrows and long hair. Their fingers are laced and it's like another dozen punches, just like before, only this time it's so much worse. He wants to run off stage and cry, throw a huge fit and just be a child again, but he flashes a grin at the crowd instead.

There are times for crying and letting out cooped up emotions, but right now is not one of them.

The head of Juilliard is in the front row, clipboard sitting in his lap, and he's not nearly as tough and professional as he imagined. He's smiling and looks like he genuinely wants him to do good.

So he bows and takes a seat at the bench in front of the piano, shuts his eyes just before he catches Harry raise his thumb up in the air.

He takes a deep breath, glories in the silence he has created, and then begins to play.

Playing is never the same when you're performing in front of other people; it's like a whole new world. Everyone seems to disappear for those moments when he plays, and if he could pick a feeling to relive his entire life, he'd pick the right damn middle of a song, when he's lost in the notes and the keys.

He doesn't think of The Girl Harry has his arm around, doesn't think of the light he left on at the flat, he can only think of his fingers playing. And he's got the song memorized, and he can tell by the complete silence of the auditorium he's got the crowd in a trance.

When the song is complete, his hands are sweaty, his fingers limp. But people are shooting from their seats to stand up and applaud, and he feels like he's won some sort of gold medal, which he reckons he kind of has.

He stands up from the bench to bow, and locks eyes with Harry, who's standing up along with everyone else in the crowd.

The Girl is rising to her feet, too, though Louis blatantly ignores her and shines his grin brightly into Harry's direction, who laughs and gives him another thumbs up, high in the air where anyone can see it.

After the crowd has settled down, Louis bows once more, makes eye contact with the head of Julliard, who beams at him, and finally makes his way off the stage. His chest is puffed with pride and though he's out of breath from the rush of playing in front of a crowd, he feels free, totally and completely free.

That is, of course, until he sees Harry and The Girl walking towards him. They are both grinning like maniacs, as if The Girl was his best friend, and Harry wasn't. They are also still holding hands, and if Louis wishes The Girl's hands get sweaty, no one has to know.

"Lou!" Harry exclaims once he's in ear shot, flinging himself from The Girl's grip to fling himself at Louis, practically lifting him off the ground. Louis doesn't mind, of course, only laughs and buries his face into Harry's skin, smiling against his neck when Harry squeezes him tight.

"You were so great. Fantastic. I mean, I thought I was going to stop breathing, you were so good." Harry praises, beaming down at him as he pulls away to wrap an arm around his waist, keeping him close to his side as he motions to The Girl.

"Lou, this is Cara. Cara, Lou." Harry introduces, and then his attention is on Cara, Caroline, whatever, Louis wasn't paying any mind to the name, and he feels his stomach drop again.

Cara, Caroline, whatever, starts rambling about how he was brilliant, she's just gushing, and he nods and smiles at her, but it's awkward and forced, because she's probably going to come home with them later and Harry will fuck her and he'll have to hear through the thin walls of the flat and the thought makes him sick to his stomach.

"So is this where you've been all day?" Louis asks suddenly, bitterness dripping from his voice. He's interrupting her, but right now he couldn't really care, because she was eyeing Harry like he was a big sack of meat, which wasn't okay at all. "Because like, a note would have been nice. Or a phone call."

Harry's whole expression drops, and he looks hurt, taken aback, like he wasn't expecting Louis to notice he was gone the whole damn day.

"I left in a hurry, we had to meet up and do something," Harry says, and his voice is way slower than normal since he's now looking back to Cara or Caroline. His eyes are now locking on Louis', and then he's pulling away to be side and side with, whatever her name is, and Louis has never hated a single person more than he hates Cara or Caroline at this very moment.

"Whatever, just." Louis pauses, feeling stupid tears well up in his eyes as he furiously wipes them away. "I just. I needed you today, and you weren't there."

"Lou," Harry starts to say, and he's sounds so, so, sad but Louis turns on his heel and pushes open the back door to leave. He feels free, like nothing, or no one can hold him back. What is he waiting for? He doesn't even need a best friend, anyway, he could-

"Louis Tomlinson?" Another male voice breaks his movie star exit and he freezes, turning around to watch as, holy fucking shit, the head of Juilliard walks over to him. He's smiling again, and he can see him much more clearly now, glasses pushed to the bridge of his nose and a very clean suit on, much like the outfit Louis is wearing himself.

"It was a pleasure, just a pleasure to watch you play tonight," he praises, voice low and cheery, "Now, this isn't for certain, but it'd be a great honor to have you at our school next fall." He looks very busy, and Louis knows it's because he has a million other recital and shows to go to, so he stops himself before crying or asking questions, and instead just nods and flashes a bright smile to him.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Polisi. It was an honor to play for you tonight." Louis casually wipes his sweaty hand on the back of his coat before shaking hands with him, watching as the man smiles once more before heading out towards the audience again. There's a few more acts tonight, some piano, some not.

When the door shuts again, Louis spares a glance over at Harry, who is still standing with Cara or Caroline, but now he's not frowning or looking over at him either, because his lips are currently attached to her lips.

"Fuck you, Harry Styles," Louis says to no one in particular and promptly exists backstage with a slam of the door.

He's proud to say he doesn't start to cry until he's safe and sound in his car, driving away.  
-

Harry does not come home that night. Louis does not expect him too.

He lays in his bed and imagines Harry staying at her house tonight, imagines them cuddling and kissing and overall being a perfect couple. Although he cringes at almost every thought, he doesn't stop torturing himself with the aspect of 'what if' and he hates that he does this to himself, every time Harry comes into a one mile radius of a girl.

It's shallow and very year eight, but he sort of hopes she falls down a well. And get's a large head injury, ending in Harry leaving her. (He tries not to remember that Harry's the second coming of Christ, and a large head injury would leave him feeling guilty and upset so he'd probably just stay with Cara, Caroline, whatever her name is for the rest of eternity and furthermore.)

When he finally ends up falling asleep, it's after he's snuck into Harry's room, stole his sweater, and curled up in Harry's bed. It's stupid and cliche and totally, completely lame, but he falls asleep without even a thought about what might be happening on the other side of town.

-

This goes on for a few days. Harry does not come home, at least, not when Louis' around, anyway.

He sees him around the campus, it's not very large, but they avoid each other at all costs. When he's out studying, he supposes Harry goes into the flat to grab a pair of clothes, because he's wearing other things when he spots him in the hallways.

Despite seeing Harry around campus almost all day, he doesn't see, whatever her name is, around at all. Maybe she's out of college already, she probably could be.

Though he wants to be mad at Harry forever, he knows he can't be. It was a mistake, and maybe he honestly forgot that it was the day they were supposed to spend rehearsing together.

The day of Harry's big guitar performance he knows he can't avoid him anymore, and texts him a few times to make sure he's got the place and time right. Harry may might not respond, but he supposes it's okay, because he's probably just busy rehearsing, is all.

Not a lot of people show up to the guitar performances, they're less well known, so it's just a small amount of people with the musicians close friends and family, along with Mr. Polisi. so when he shows up, Louis' happy to catch up with Anne and Gemma, who gush over him, per usual.

He talks to Niall, Liam and Zayn, who all managed to come, and they discuss how giraffes are mute. Louis fills them in on Cara or Caroline and Liam watches him with sorry eyes as he insists it's fine, and that it doesn't bother him at all.

("But you're in love with him." Liam says carefully, voice a whisper, as if Harry would hear them backstage.

"No." Louis lies.

"Yes, you totally are!" Niall shouts, louder than the whisper Liam was normally talking at.

"No I'm not." Louis bites his lip and holds his tongue, because he's not really a good liar, and his friends can see right through him.

"You musicians! Too stubborn to admit anything!" Zayn exclaims, exasperated, as he settles down in his seat, and Louis doesn't argue because hey, it's only the truth, though he could argue that English teachers in training are pretty damn stubborn, too.)

He talks with Mr. Polisi for a few minutes about the history of Juilliard, how it was founded and he's embarrassed to admit that although it's the second time meeting him, he's more than a little starstruck.

When it's time for Harry to actually, you know, perform, the 20 people in the audience are dead, numbed into silence.

Harry looks very, very gorgeous in his suit, as normal, and he's all propped up on the stool as his long arms cradle the guitar, strumming along to some classical song Louis doesn't know the name of.

Harry is an extremely dedicated guitarist, and keeps his eyes focused on the back of the wall, his gaze not quite reaching any of the audience members, only every so often glancing down to their foreheads, as if not to get distracted.

And when he goes onto his second, third, and final song, people are still holding onto every note, every breath Harry takes, and then he finishes just as strong as he started, and although it's just Harry's family, they all burst to their feet to give a standing ovation.

Harry is positively beaming when he carefully sets his guitar down and rises to his feet to bow, finally making eye contact with Anne first, then Gemma, then fixes his stare on Louis.

Harry seems to forget that they're sort of, kind of, fighting, and grins at him, holding up a simple thumbs up, and Louis responds with the same gesture, high up in the air, and Niall laughs and elbows him in the side, mumbling something about how they always have these inside jokes no one else will ever get or understand.

But then Harry seems to remember and his smile sort of fades and he looks distant and almost heart sick, like Louis had just told him heartbreaking news right then and there.

Louis watches as Mr. Polisi stands to talk and praise him, though before he can run up and congratulate him in person, he get's caught up in a discussion with their old friend, Josh, and when he looks back up to the stage Harry's gone, and so is his car in the parking lot.

Louis takes the long way home, driving around the campus instead of taking the shortcut because he wants to wait until the last possible moment to go home, in hopes Harry will be waiting in the kitchen with his arms wide and open.

He studies the flowers starting to bloom outside of flats and dorms, watches as girls take pictures of themselves in short tank tops and even shorter skirts, despite it not even being that warm out. When he actually gets home, it's seven at night, and Harry's car is not in the lot.

He possibly walks even slower to the front door of their flat than he did driving to it, though he's not sure why. It's cold and lonely inside, just like the whole past week. It's all been awfully lonesome, he realizes, and all he wants is to run up to Harry and apologize, but he doesn't really have anything to be sorry for.

They've had fights bigger than this loads of times, though they've never ended in them not talking for a week, and it's starting to take a toll on his actual physical and mental health.

He pushes open the front door and enters his bedroom, not bothering to shut the door before undressing and sliding into another one of Harry's sweaters.

He used to hate wearing them, not liking how childish he looks in one, but now he can't seem to get enough of the comfort they bring, like Harry's long body is wrapped around him, holding him close.

He lays in bed for awhile, staring up at the ceiling, though he can't seem to fall asleep. He tries Harry's bedroom, too, but even then it's not enough. He ends up in the music room, knees to his chest as he curls up on the piano bench, carefully letting his fingers drift across each key, playing to the sound of how miserable he is.

Louis eventually decides that he'll write a ballad one day of just this feeling. Alone in his house, hopeless and heartbroken, with only a piano to keep himself company. It'll be a downer piece, but one of his best, that's for sure.

He ends up playing for a lot longer than he can stay awake, his eyes heavy and fingers limp like they were a week ago though his whole body shoots upward into performance position when the door creaks open and in walks Harry Styles.

"Didn't think you'd be up." Harry says quietly, though he doesn't really direct it towards Louis himself, he just sort of says it to no one, lets it echo around the room, so Louis does not respond and instead scoots over on the piano bench, a silent signal for Harry to scoot on over with him.

He expects him to maybe walk away, maybe scoff and start to yell, but instead Harry sits beside him so that their hips and thighs are pressed close together, and their arms brush against the other whenever they make the slightest movement.

And for a while they sit there next to each other, and all Louis can hear is silence, silence, silence, but then Louis begins to play, slow and careful and Harry watches, and he watches not only with his eyes, but with his heart and soul, too.

"I'm in love with you," Harry says then, with a low voice, not even five minutes after Louis has started to run his fingers along the keys of the piano.

It does not phase Louis, except it sort of, kind of does. His head his tuned into the music he's playing, though he's not even sure what he's playing, so he continues to dip his fingers down against the white of the painted keys, and does not glance over at him as he does so.

"I'm in love with the way you handle everything. The way you take on the world. I'm in love with your eyes and your character. I'm in love with your mind and your heart and your soul. I'm in love with how you burn your eggs, and how you're stubborn as hell. I'm in love with all the words you have said, and I'll fall in love with the words you say in a year. And if you don't interrupt me or kiss me or say something, I'm going to have a panic attack." Harry's voice is deep and rocky, like it is after he gets out of the shower or has just woken up.

Louis' speechless and dazed, breath fully caught in his throat. He's not sure if he's even supposed to respond, and, if so, how do you reply to something like that? He's had boys in love with him before, sure, but this is his best friend, who he's been in love with since, like, primary school.

So Louis' silent for a long, long time. It may be hours or maybe it's only minutes, but for however long it is, each second feels like a bomb trapped inside of him, threatening to explode at any minute.

"You should kiss me right now," Louis says, voice breaking into the numb air, and closes his eyes.

What he's not expecting is that Harry laughs, all broad and full, before he tugs Louis up by the side of his hip, and then they're kissing, finally.

Louis reaches up to cup his cheek, thumb rubbing over the very thin, almost invisible, stubble growing on Harry's jaw. The only time Louis has felt Harry's lips was on the visible part of his skin, his cheek, forehead and nose, though he thinks having Harry lick and nibble on his lips with his own is a few times better than getting a kiss on the cheek hello.

Before the room was still with silence, though now all that is heard is tiny gasps and huffs of breath, the sound of lips against lips and heavy breathing against skin.

Neither has said a word, though Louis figures there will be another time and day for all of that.

There will be another time when Louis will ask how and why, and another day when he'll question everything that ever had to do with with Cara or Caroline, and there will be arguments and fights and it won't be perfect, he knows that.

But right now, he's got Harry and the world in front of him.

There isn't much more he can even ask for.

**Author's Note:**

> yoooooooooooo
> 
> feedback/???/////
> 
> tumblr: judgementdays
> 
> ~you're like a song  
> that i heard when   
> i was a little kid but   
> forgot i knew until  
> i heard it again.~


End file.
